


Harmony & Unison

by WednesdayGilfillian



Series: I Can Dream, Can't I? [3]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Eve, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, carols
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21601210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayGilfillian/pseuds/WednesdayGilfillian
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Mrs. Turner's choir - and plenty of other people - gather at All Saints' Church.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Series: I Can Dream, Can't I? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539436
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	Harmony & Unison

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, it's still November... But I'll be out of the country and out of the fic-writing game for a solid month, so I had to get my Christmas fic written early! I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> Many thanks, as always, to my wonderful betas @ginchy and @fourteen-teacups! <3

Shelagh clasped her sheet music firmly under one arm as she ascended the steps to All Saints’. She and Patrick had returned from honeymoon a few days previously, and she had almost adjusted back into the rhythms of the day-to-day. Not that there _was_ anything ordinary to ‘adjust back to’ in her new life. Suddenly she was Mrs. Turner, and everything was different. The hustle and bustle of the lead up to Christmas was almost a comforting familiarity; the Christmas Eve service would be more so.

Loosening her scarf, Shelagh entered the church to find it lit in larger part by candles than was usual, along with electric light. The pews were bedecked with festive greenery. She had arrived very early, of course, but she was not alone – greeted by a few helpers bustling about. The choir would arrive soon, to warm up their voices and rehearse before the service began.

Shelagh was just setting out sheet music for the pianist – who would join them in time for the service, but not before – when she looked up to see the first of the girls arrive. Marie and Sally were approaching down the aisle, beaming at the decorations, and at their choir mistress.

“Hello Miss Mann – I mean, _Mrs. Turner_!”

It was very poor acting, this coy ‘mistake’. Marie was all too gleeful to be convincing. Shelagh smiled amusedly and welcomed the girls, admiring them in their festive best, red or green ribbons in their neatly-brushed hair. Marie’s eyes sought out her wedding band at once, and Shelagh was fielding questions about what her dress had been like when Joyce, followed by Debbie and Catherine, hurried down the aisle.

“Hello, _Mrs. Turner_!”  
“Merry Christmas, _Mrs. Turner_!”

This was the “your fiancé” thing all over again. Each girl, upon arrival, would make great play of the greeting, as though no one would have thought to do so before. Ruth and Joanne arrived together, then a few others. By the time Rose arrived, Shelagh was almost glad the girl came in quietly – until she realised the reason.

“Hello, Mrs. Turner…” Rose croaked, the words barely audible. She gave her choir mistress an apologetic smile.  
“Oh, _Rose_ …” Shelagh fretted. “You haven’t lost your voice?”  
The girl nodded regretfully.  
“I’m not ill, honest,” she insisted, in a rasping half-whisper. “Not feverish or anything. It might be from overuse, Mum says…but she’s just tetchy ‘cause sometimes my brothers and I can be loud.” Shelagh stifled a chuckle at that.

“I was hoping my voice might come back in time, even this morning…” Rose continued, miserably. “I didn’t want to miss tonight.”  
Shelagh’s heart went out the girl. She looked half-hopeful, half-desolate.  
“And you’re so pretty in your ribbons…” She noted that Rose, too, had dressed for the occasion. “Well, I suppose you can just mouth the words. It’d be a shame not to have you standing with us.”  
The girl gave sigh of obvious relief, and hurried to join her friends, beaming.  
“But save what voice you have left, now, won’t you?” Shelagh instructed. “I don’t want you singing at all. Not even _speaking_ more than you need to!”

A few minutes later, when they started warm-ups, Shelagh wished she’d issued that last instruction to the choir at large. The girls always had the potential to be boisterous and excitable, but now, on Christmas Eve…when they hadn’t been together for a couple of weeks… _and_ had a newly-married choir mistress to tease…

There was a certain irony in rehearsing ‘Dona Nobis Pacem’ with a gaggle of teenagers who represented every other festive quality – particularly exuberance – more than they embodied peace. Shelagh felt any sense of peace ebbing away from _her_ , and began to feel slightly frustrated. Christmas cheer was one thing, but this was getting ridiculous.

Joyce – who was more keenly attuned than the other girls to the mood of the choir mistress she so admired – was trying to calm the others down. (Without doing anything more assertive than frowning at them.) Even given the mildness of this effort, Ruth rolled her eyes.  
“Brighten up, bossy britches! It’s Christmas!”  
“ _Yes_ , and-”  
Joyce found the rest of her sentence directed at Ruth’s back, as the girl turned to whisper something in Rose’s ear. Rose couldn’t repress a terrible, croaking laugh – and Shelagh’s patience ran out.

“ _Ruth Iphigenia Dunlop_! Might you grace us all with your attention?”  
Ruth’s mouth dropped open, as the other girls fell silent around her.  
“H…How do you know my middle name?” she stammered.  
Shelagh rolled her eyes. “It’s on the roll I take at the start of every practice.”  
Ruth was blushing – something Shelagh had never seen – and from somewhere in the rows of girls came the stifled giggle “ _Iphigenia??_ ”

Shelagh felt a little bad, though she knew Ruth could more than handle minor embarrassment. She turned her gaze on the rest of the girls, in case they thought their choir mistress’s frustration was directed at Ruth alone.  
“As for the rest of you… Am I going to need to remind you where we are?”  
The girls looked guiltily at their surroundings.  
“No, Mi– Mrs.”  
“Good.”

Shelagh took a deep breath, and felt her temper settle. She smiled.  
“Now, if we could all just concentrate, that would be marvellous. I know you’ve got this piece down pat… You could sing it standing on your heads! But please don’t,” she added quickly, pretending to be afraid that they might try. It was a weak joke, just supposed to mend the breach between them – and, generously, the girls laughed.

After that, the rehearsal went well. Just as Shelagh started to feel really, truly confident, the choir themselves started to feel nervous – the beginning of the service was drawing near. The girls seated themselves near the front, as the rest of the congregation began to fill the pews behind them.

Shelagh remained on her feet, hovering near the choir. As the church filled, more and more familiar faces gave her friendly smiles and nods. Mothers, and other patients; assorted neighbours; Fred… From Trixie and Jenny and Cynthia, she got beaming smiles and waves hello across the congregation. The Sisters arrived shortly after, moving down the aisle, and Shelagh hurried to greet them. She had not seen them all since her wedding, which seemed a long time ago.

“Merry Christmas, Shelagh!” Sister Julienne smiled warmly. “You’re looking well. And so are your choir! We look forward to hearing them at last.”

The pianist arrived at that moment, pulling Shelagh away, so she promised to speak with the Sisters again after the service. As Mrs. Jamieson settled herself at her instrument, Shelagh looked down the aisle again – and felt her heart leap at the sight of Patrick and Timothy. They were both nicely-dressed, and when he saw her Patrick grinned. They looked uncertain as to where they ought to sit – Patrick mouthed something and made a questioning sort of gesture. Shelagh beckoned, beaming, and they came and sat in the pew behind the choir.

Timothy sat forward and leaned across his Dad to address a comment to Shelagh. “I knew we’d make it in time. Would you believe _he_ was worried _I_ might make us late?”  
Shelagh laughed at her stepson’s righteous indignation.  
“Well, I’m very glad you’re here. Both of you.”  
She and Patrick shared a private sort of smile, and Timothy rolled his eyes as the two adults seemed to miss his point entirely.

Shortly afterwards the Reverend appeared, and the congregation rose to the first resounding notes of a carol from the organ. (Mrs. Jamieson would play piano only for the choir, who required more delicate accompaniment.) The music filled the space, and Shelagh felt the peace and warm familiarity of it all wash over her. The only thing _un_ familiar was that, this year, she was not standing with the Sisters. She had Patrick and Timothy beside her now. And, Shelagh realised suddenly, they were both singing rather _well_. Patrick, in particular. She hadn’t really heard them sing before.

When it was time for the offertory, the choir rose, as did their choir mistress. A few of the girls looked slightly nervous, but Shelagh knew this wasn’t like any other kind of performance. The people sitting behind her were not judges that the choir needed to impress. They were families, neighbours, and friends.

The choir sang ‘Dona Nobis Pacem’ beautifully, as Shelagh had been certain they would. Afterwards they all returned to their pews, where their voices would support the rest of the congregation in a less formal capacity. Some of the girls had spotted their families, and went to sit with them. In the reshuffle as they took their seats, Shelagh ended up sitting between Joanne and Patrick.

The service continued, and – in those moments when her attention was not absorbed in her own prayer and reflection – Shelagh was pleased to note that neither Patrick nor Timothy looked disinterested or uncomfortable. Now that he was (just) too old to take part, Timothy looked with fond amusement on the children’s Nativity.

The service ended with one last, jubilant carol – ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’. As they went into another verse, Shelagh looked to the place where the Sisters stood together. She felt, for a moment, the slightest pang. And yet, Shelagh knew – though she and the Sisters now stood separately – in this place, their voices mingled. _Everyone’s_ voices mingled, the rough with the sweet. Hers, and Patrick’s, and Timothy’s, and Sister Julienne’s…Trixie’s and Fred’s and the grocer’s boy’s, and all the choir girls, and all their parents. As Sister Monica Joan would no doubt remind her, ‘congregation’ came from the Latin _congrare_ , “to gather together”. And they _were_ together, in a deeper sense than usual, that night of all nights.

She hadn’t realised the sudden, tender joy she was feeling was visible on her face – until she noticed Patrick’s eyes were on her. His expression was gentle, and as they stood side by side, his hand subtly found hers. Then he turned his gaze forwards again, giving her privacy in that moment.

After the service, everyone spilled out into the vestibule, and gathered in clusters down the steps. The night had grown colder, and the air was crisp. Timothy disappeared at once to find his school friends, and Patrick and Shelagh found themselves warmly greeted by a number of former patients.

“Mrs. Turner,” said a woman Shelagh couldn’t place. “I’d hoped I might see you this evening. I’m Joyce Anderson’s mother,” she explained, and Shelagh smiled in recognition. Now that she knew who this stranger was, there _was_ something of Joyce about the woman’s demeanour.  
“I just wanted to thank you. She’s generally so much on her lonesome, is our Joyce,” Mrs. Anderson went on, smiling softly. “Not one for sports, or for joining in much of anything really. We had to cajole her into joining the choir, when Miss Mulheron was running it a year ago. But this year…” The woman shook her head, her smile broadening. “On days when she’s been at practice, she can’t stop talking about the choir, and the other girls, and you, and the songs. She sings while doing the dishes. You’ve made a world of difference to ‘er, really. Thank you.”  
Shelagh found herself quite touched. She shook Mrs. Anderson’s hand, and said sincerely that Joyce was a pleasure to teach.

A few other parents stopped to say hello – including Rose’s mother, who apologised profusely for her daughter’s lost voice. Then Shelagh looked up, and realised that all the choir girls had gathered round her. She had thought some of them might already have gone, but apparently not. They had a conspiratorial air about them, and all smiled broadly as Marie stepped to the front.  
“We made you a Christmas card,” Marie explained, pulling something from behind her back.

And they _had_ made it. Rather than buying a card new, the girls had created a collage from bits and pieces of old ones. There was a holly wreath in one style, a band of angels in another, and “Merry Christmas Mrs. Turner” written in coloured pencil at the top. Looking closer, Shelagh realised that the background was formed not of white paper, but bars of music – notes and staves. It wasn’t how she’d meant to react, but she couldn’t help being slightly scandalised.  
“You _cut up_ sheet music…?”  
Catherine reassured her quickly. “It was my Nan’s. She’d spilt tea on the other half of the page in any case.”  
“We thought you’d like it…”  
“Oh, I _do_!” Shelagh assured them, beaming down at the card emotionally, in a slightly delayed response. “You’re all so clever…and you went to so much trouble. Thank you!”

After lingering a while longer to point out where they’d each signed the card, the girls started to go their separate ways. Shelagh had a ‘merry Christmas’ from each of them, and Joanne couldn’t resist having one last go at their over-done joke as she left. “Happy Christmas, _Mrs. Turner_ !” she winked over her shoulder.  
Shaking her head in fond amusement, Shelagh turned to find Patrick beside her.  
“They’re all hopeless romantics,” she said by way of explanation, nodding at the departing, giggling girls. “Or they just like teasing me. I can’t be sure.”  
“Teenage girls, romantic?” Patrick raised his eyebrows in faux-surprise. “How astonishing…”

They were sharing a laughing smile when Sister Julienne, followed by Sisters Monica Joan and Evangelina, made their way through the crowd towards them. They greeted Patrick cordially, and began talking about the service, and how wonderful Shelagh’s choir had been.

Debbie, Marie, and Sally still lingered nearby, while their parents chatted. They all lived near each other on the same street, and would walk home together. In the glow of the street lamps, Sally’s face was alight. She didn’t seem able to stand still.

“Why don’t we ask if we can take the long way home?” she asked her friends all of a sudden. “I can’t help thinking that if we stay out a bit longer, and carol as we walk, it _might_ just snow…”  
She looked up at the sky hopefully. Marie rolled her eyes, laughing.  
“Sally, you’re such a sap. Besides, you said that last year!”  
“So isn’t it about time I was right?”  
Debbie grinned sympathetically. “I don’t think that’s how weather works, Sal…”  
“Oh, come on!” Sally pleaded. In her fit of festive cheer, she was showing an unusual determination. “Remember that old carol your Nan taught us, Debs? _Here we come a-wassailing among the leaves so green_ …”  
Marie was amused enough to join in the singing, while Debbie laughed.  
“ _Here we come a-wand’ring, so fair to be seen_!”

Where she stood talking with her Sisters and the Turners, Sister Monica Joan wheeled on the spot. She hurried over to the girls at once, clapping her hands in delighted astonishment.  
“I have not heard that carol sung for many a year!” she said, with her characteristic earnestness. “I had feared the more traditional songs had fallen out of fashion.”  
The choir girls were not used to this kind of pronouncement, and struggled for a moment with how to respond.  
“It was my Nan’s favourite,” Debbie explained. “We’re going to carol, sort of, as we walk home.” She pointed in the general direction of their houses. Sister Monica Joan’s face lit up.  
“I am bound in the same direction!” she beamed – as though this was the most unlikely and fortuitous possible circumstance. “Might I, perchance, join you?”  
Marie turned away slightly, biting her lip to stifle a giggle at the antiquated phrasing. Debbie looked embarrassed, but Sally gave the Sister an open smile.  
“Of course. The more the merrier!”

Marie hurried off to run this plan by their parents, who agreed, so long as they were allowed to join their daughters’ carolling party. Shelagh, Patrick, and Sisters Julienne and Evangelina looked around to hear the group start singing – and realised that Sister Monica Joan was among them. Sister Julienne gave the Turners an apologetic smile, as the carollers started walking.  
“I think we had better follow… Merry Christmas to you both! And to Timothy!”  
“Merry Christmas, Sisters!”

Patrick and Shelagh watched as the group set off down the street. The choir girls and Sister Monica Joan were leading the party, and they made a merry sight, the girls arm in arm. It was difficult to say whether Debbie, Marie, Sally, or Sister Monica Joan seemed the most youthfully exuberant. Soon even Sister Evangelina had joined in the song – though she managed to convey the impression that she was doing so only on sufferance. Their voices rang out through the night.

 _Here we come a-wassailing among the leaves so green,_ _  
__Here we come a-wand’ring, so fair to be seen!_ _  
__Love and joy come to you,_ _  
__And to your wassail too,_ _  
__And God bless you and send you a happy new year!_  
 _And God send you a happy new year!_

Timothy appeared between Shelagh and Patrick at that moment, looking rather dejected. “Jack had to leave early. His little sister wanted to be in bed in time for Father Christmas to visit.”  
“Well,” Patrick sighed contentedly, checking his watch, “hadn’t we better be doing the same?”  
Timothy looked distinctly unimpressed at even a _joke_ about his still believing in Father Christmas.  
“More to the point,” Shelagh said, hurriedly, “if we leave now we might have time for a cup of cocoa before bed.”

They set off together, half-a-block or so behind the group of carollers, and Shelagh smiled at her husband thoughtfully.  
“I didn’t realise till tonight that you had such a fine voice, Patrick. I’d like to hear you sing more often.” Her eyes sparkled. “Or at _least_ you could chime in on the triangle…”  
“What?” Tim looked in confusion from one parent to the other.  
“Hasn’t your father told you about his musical gifts?” Shelagh’s tone was all innocent astonishment. “He very nearly played the triangle in his school band...”  
Timothy raised his eyebrows skeptically. “I bet that got you all the girls, Dad.”  
Patrick’s mouth dropped open at this impertinence. It was clear he was trying not to laugh. “I rescind that offer of cocoa! It’s straight to bed for you, young man!”

Laughing fondly, the Turners continued down the street. By the time they arrived at their flat, it had started to snow.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very welcome! Season's greetings, all! <3


End file.
